A Princess in Theory (Reluctant Royals #1)(27)

“Howdy, neighbor,” he said with a grin, as if that was a completely normal thing people said to one another.

“Well, hello,” Portia replied, her amusement clear. “Did you just move here from Mayberry?”

“They play reruns of that show where I’m from, too.” he said, flashing his smile. “We’re no New York City, but not quite as provincial as that.”

“And where are you from, exactly?” Portia asked, but Jamal had already transferred his gaze to Ledi. She remembered how he’d looked at her the night before, but could find little trace of it now. Only a reserved friendliness. He bent forward at the waist a little.

Is he . . . bowing?

“How was your dinner?” he asked. “Mine was delicious. There was only one thing that could have made it better.”

Ah. There was the look. Heat rose to the surface of Ledi’s cheeks and neck.

“Paprika?” Ledi guessed. “I thought it could have used some paprika.”

He shook his head and his gaze quickly traced the curve of her shoulder before returning to her face.

“Not paprika.”

Two simple words that sent up blooms of sensation in her breasts and belly.

“My dinner was good,” Ledi said, suddenly regretting not staying the previous night, which was a sign she’d made the right decision. “Probably not as good as the packet of ramen I would have eaten if you hadn’t been here.”

He laughed. His eyes squeezed shut as he did, and it was a relief. She had boundaries—everyone needed those—but when Jamal looked at her, she could feel just how tightly closed in on herself she was, and how tiring it was to always be that way. His gaze made her feel like opening.

She took a deep breath to center herself and something floral sweet and grassy green hit her scent receptors and kept going. It made a beeline for her brain and rustled around in her memory, nudging at shadowy outlines that she couldn’t quite make out. There was a flash of yellow against brown skin—and was that a smile?—but more than that there were feelings.

Again with the feelings?

Happiness. Belonging. The knowledge that she was loved.

Jamal closed his door and stepped fully into the hallway and she realized the scent was coming from him.

What the hell?

Ledi backed away from him a bit, not because the scent was cloying, but because she had no idea why it evoked the burning at her eyes or made her want to be held.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh. You’re the one who made Ledi dinner? The possible serial killer?” Portia’s gaze flicked speculatively between the two of them, the glance pulling Ledi from the memories and emotions that hovered just on the periphery of her perception. Portia was zeroing in on Jamal, and that was a problem.

Oh god. No.

Portia had offered to help kill her ex the other night, and although it had been hyperbolic, her friend could be a bit overprotective when it came to men. Men and Ledi, that was. She showed no such discernment for herself.

Ledi began to drag Portia away. “The Institute is closed because of an emergency, so I’m going to actually do something fun before studying this evening.”

“Closed? Is it . . . Was it because of the fire?” he asked, walking alongside them as they headed for the stairwell. His expression was so contrite that Ledi couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. A little.

“No. The restaurant survived your arson attempt, only to be felled by nature’s greatest asshole—the bacterium.”

He looked confused.

“Food poisoning.”

His confusion changed to worry and she remembered that he’d recently eaten there, too. She’d let him figure out that he was fine on his own as a final repayment for his behavior that night.

“Wait, what fire? What are you talking about?” Portia asked, turning back to look up at Ledi. That was when Ledi realized that she was walking next to Jamal instead of her friend. She hopped down a step so that she was next to Portia.

“Nothing,” Ledi said. At the same time, Jamal announced, “I set fire to the fondue station.”

Now it was Ledi’s turn to look up and back.

“I’ll never forget the sight of you racing to save the day,” he continued. The white of his teeth broke up the uniform blackness of his beard as he smiled. “You were like—”

He began to move in an exaggerated slow motion, mimicking the pivotal scene in just about every summer blockbuster. He pointed an imaginary fire extinguisher in Ledi’s direction. “The foooooonnndduuuuuuueeeeee!” he yelled in a voice that he also slowed and deepened as he pretended to spray an imaginary extinguisher that threatened to slip from his control. “Not on my watch!”

When he finally stopped and met her gaze, his arms still raised as if they held the extinguisher, they both burst into laughter. Ledi didn’t know what was happening, but her stomach hurt from the heaving and she had to stop and hold on to the banister with one hand and her chest with the other.

“That’s not what happened!” she managed to gasp.

“I’m the one who nearly set himself on fire, Naledi. It is quite literally burned into my memory, and also my left forearm,” he said. “Trust me on this.”

And then they were laughing again, and Ledi realized she felt the same way she had outside her door when she’d caught a whiff of his cologne. Happy. Like she belonged.